Final Call

by Rachel Ann Nunes

“For the murder?”

  “For both. He’s a hot-headed kid, and he’s definitely not telling us everything, but even if he hurt Rosemary, I don’t think he knows where she is now.” A grim determination in his voice told me he’d probably be up half the night further interrogating the guy.

  “If he doesn’t know where she is, then he probably didn’t do it. No one has reason to hide her if he didn’t do something wrong.”

  “I’ve seen stranger things.”

  Yeah, like someone who reads imprints. There was a time when he’d have said it aloud, and I would have said something snotty back to him. I kind of missed those days. It had been simpler.

  “So many of these perps lie even when they don’t have to. The only thing it accomplishes is to slow down the investigation. I have to make sure that’s not what’s happening here. Oh, and one more thing. I went out to talk to Rosemary’s parents this morning. I stopped by to see if you wanted to come along, but you weren’t home.”

  He had? That was a first. It was still usually his partner who called me in on their cases. “Ever hear of a phone?”

  “I called. There was no answer.”

  I had left my phone in Tawnia’s car during our morning excursion and hadn’t checked messages. “Sorry, I was with Tawnia. We had an appointment with a lady.”

  “What a relief. I thought you might be getting mugged again.”

  “Very funny.”

  “So, did your appointment have to do with Rosemary?”

  I hesitated. I didn’t know if I wanted to tell him. Then again, this was a man I was considering starting a relationship with. Maybe. “We found a lady who knew our birth mother’s mother. We’re trying to discover more about our relatives.”

  He was quiet a moment, and I was relieved he didn’t rattle off some snarky comment. “How’d it go?” he asked finally.

  “We’re close to finding her, I think. Whether or not it’s a wise idea, I don’t know.” I glanced at the house aglow with lights, feeling uncomfortable with the whole subject. “What about you? How’d it go with Rosemary’s parents?”

  “I found nothing new. I don’t like the Taylors, though. They’re hiding something. Maybe not about Rosemary, but they’re hiding something, all the same.”

  “If I find out anything, I’ll let you know.”

  “You going to see them?”

  “I’m here now. In fact, I’d better go in or they might think I’m staking out their house.”

  “Okay. Well, let me know.” By his lack of protest, I figured he didn’t consider the couple dangerous despite his dislike. I was glad. After last night, I’d had enough adventure. Though now that I thought about it, I supposed the room in Tawnia’s drawing could be one at this very house.

  Wonderful, I told myself. I didn’t even need someone else to spook me. I could do it all by myself.

  I realized I’d forgotten to tell Shannon about Tawnia’s drawing. Anyway, it hadn’t helped at all, so it wouldn’t likely break the case. Unless her parents or brother could positively identify her.

  Turning off the engine, I climbed from the Toyota and slammed the door. As I trudged up the walk, a strange reluctance settled over me. Dread. The feeling of hidden eyes watching me. I fought the urge to run back to my car and drive home.

  Pausing, I carefully surveyed the area. There was no sign of anyone, though the many mature trees and bushes provided plenty of places for someone to watch unseen. Had the person responsible for Rosemary’s disappearance or Cheyenne’s death followed me here? But why? Surely, he—or she—wouldn’t think that I was a danger to him, not now that the police and all their resources were on the case. Unless he—or she—knew about my talent and thought I’d discovered something.

  The attacker at the theater might not have been Rosemary’s boyfriend. That, of course, meant he or she could be in the shadows watching me.

  Ridiculous, I thought. Whoever attacked me in the theater had been there for something completely unrelated to me. The glass that had held the poison had been put in the dishwasher, not removed from the premises.

  Nevertheless, I swung my eyes back and forth as I continued up the walk. I thought about removing the gun from my pocket and holding it as a deterrent but pushed the thought away. Anyone watching might feel that much more threatened. If I were attacked, my hands and feet were the only weapons I’d need.

  Unless the stalker had a gun.

  Before ringing the bell, I purposely removed my rings and touched the doorknob just to see what might be there. Nothing but the faintest impression of relief. Relief to be home. Though it wasn’t strong, I could tell it was fairly recent—within the last week. Nothing unusual about that. It had to be from Liam, though, or some other relative, because there was an equally impressive garage attached to the house. Likely the elder Taylors used that means to enter the house.

  I raised my hand to the bell, but the door opened before I reached it, and Liam poked his nose out from around the side of the door. “Oh, you’re here. I’ve been watching for you.”

  I hoped that explained the odd watched feeling I’d experienced.

  “Look, about my parents,” he rushed on. “They, uh, well—could you not mention that I went to see you about Rosemary? They don’t know I kept in contact with her. They wouldn’t be very happy to find out, and I need their support if I’m going to finish college. Okay? Can you do that?” He stared at me anxiously.

  “But the police have already been here.”

  “Well, when I talked to that guy whose number you gave me, he said they’d have to talk to my parents, and I told him the same thing I’m telling you. He was cool about it. Not like the movies at all. You know, when they spring your secret just to get a reaction. I was there the whole time, and he barely noticed me.”

  I was surprised Shannon had been so accommodating. Yes, Liam had a certain something that had made me like him—even in the beginning when he’d made rude comments about my not wearing shoes. Maybe that was because at the same time he’d been blushing furiously, obviously, as he confessed later, smitten with me. I’d found him endearing and kind of sweet, like a kid brother or a young neighbor child you couldn’t get rid of. Shannon must also have liked the boy after having met him because, frankly, Shannon simply wasn’t that nice. Or maybe it was only me he’d never been nice to. No, I’d seen criminals shaking under that intent gaze. The only answer had to be that Shannon hadn’t found anything to gain by telling the Taylors about their son’s concern with Rosemary.

  “Well?” Liam pressed. He looked about ready to faint.

  “Okay. I’m just a friend she missed lunch with. That good enough?”

  “Yeah, but make sure they know you own a business. That you’re not an actress.”

  Well, at least that was the truth.

  “Okay, I’m going in the back door. Give me a few seconds and then ring the bell.”

  Before I could protest or warn him about the person I’d felt watching me earlier, he took off around the house.

  I waited five seconds and rang the bell. It was a presumptuous bell, with a grand tolling that went on for thirty seconds. You’d think their house was three times its size with that sort of annunciation every time a visitor arrived.

  “I’ll get it, Mom,” I heard a voice say. Liam opened the door. “Hello?”

  Oh, brother. “Hi, I’d like to talk to your parents,” I said. “If they’re home.”

  “Mom, Dad,” Liam called. “It’s for you.”

  A few seconds later a woman wearing a gold-and-black pantsuit appeared in the entryway behind Liam. Her stylish blonde hair reached just below her chin. A man in dress pants and button-down shirt followed, the gray streaks in his brown hair looking more distinguished than mature. There wasn’t much of Liam in him that I could see, except for his height.

 
“Don’t yell, dear,” the woman said to Liam, her eyes coming to rest on me with an apologetic smile. “May I help you? You haven’t been in an accident, I hope?” This I guessed was in regard to the bruises and cut on my face.

  “No, nothing like that. I’m Autumn Rain, an old friend of your daughter’s, and I was hoping I could chat with you a few moments. I own an antiques shop here in town, or I would have come sooner.” Let them derive from that whatever they wanted.

  “Oh, a friend of Rosemary’s.” Mrs. Taylor glanced at her husband. “Isn’t that nice, dear?” He smiled, which I took as a good omen and not only because the smile bore some resemblance to Liam’s. Apparently Mrs. Taylor took it that way, too. “Come in,” she invited.

  As I followed the Taylors to a sitting room, I glanced at Liam, who hovered nearby, twisting his hands. The behavior seemed so unlike the confident boy I knew, and for the first time I understood why he’d stolen the music box from my store. He didn’t feel his parents were people he could go to where Rosemary was concerned.

  Why? It didn’t make sense. Many children disappointed their parents—maybe all children did at one point or another—but that didn’t mean you ignored or stopped loving them, did it? I knew what Winter and Summer would think about that. No matter what I did or thought or tried, I knew they would love me, and maybe that made me more reckless, more cautious, or more naive. I don’t know, but in any case, I made it to adulthood relatively unscathed.

  “What a nice picture.” I touched the top of a family portrait from the table near the chair where Mrs. Taylor indicated for me to sit. Love seeped through me. Three years ago when they’d taken this photo, Mrs. Taylor had been full of joy because of her family. More pictures of them dotted the walls, but none were more recent. Not only had the Taylors not removed Rosemary’s photographs, but they hadn’t taken a new picture without her. I could feel nothing of Mr. Taylor on the frame, so I could safely assume that pictures were his wife’s realm.

  Mrs. Taylor’s eyes ran over my black sweatshirt and army pants. At least Winter’s black coat, though old, was more stylish than mine. Belatedly, I realized I should have stayed in my dress for this interview.

  “So, how do you know Rosemary?” Mrs. Taylor asked.

  Tawnia could have acted her way through the questions, but my throat felt suddenly dry. The only thing to do was to plunge into my own questions and press on until they kicked me out. “It’s been so long, I don’t even remember, but she’s been missed since she left town, I can tell you that. The strange thing is that she missed lunch on Friday, and Rosemary would never not show up like that. I was worried, so I went over to the theater, the new one she started at, and they didn’t know anything. The frightening thing is that while I was there, the girl who replaced Rosemary was found poisoned. She’s dead.”

  “Poisoned?” Mrs. Taylor lost all the color in her face. She turned to her husband. “The detective didn’t say anything about a murder.”

  Mr. Taylor didn’t speak for a moment, and I couldn’t read the impassive expression on his face. “I’m sure that’s because the cases are not connected, dear. The detective mentioned a young man Rosemary has been dating, and he is, I understand, the primary suspect in her disappearance. But as I told the detective, I’m sure Rosemary will turn up.” He turned his head to include me. “You have to understand that these types of people simply don’t respond or act the way we do. They aren’t responsible. Rosemary probably found a better opportunity and neglected to inform her employer that she changed her mind. She’s done stuff like that all her life. It’s a fickleness we were unable to correct.”

  I glanced at Liam, expecting him to say something, but he was slouched on a chair, staring at his hands. Mrs. Taylor wouldn’t meet my gaze, either. I was beginning to understand how it was. They all deferred to him, even though they didn’t agree. Whether out of habit or because of fear, I couldn’t say.

  “The role Rosemary was doing had a possibility of taking her to Broadway,” I said as though Mr. Taylor hadn’t spoken. “The director believes she is very talented, better for the part than any of the company’s other actresses. This was Rosemary’s big break, and it was very important to her. I’m really worried.”

  Mrs. Taylor’s forehead creased with more anxiety. “Broadway?”

  “Apparently, the producer has contacts there. As you can imagine, he was very upset about her disappearance. All her clothes and belongings are still at the place she was staying, except for her cell phone. No one has found that yet.”

  “She’ll show up.” Mr. Taylor looked at me with ice in his eyes. “Meanwhile you should let the police handle things.”

  I hated the dismissal in his eyes. “Actually, I consult for the police, and I’m interested in the case because of my connection with Rosemary. My visit isn’t official, but they know I’m here.”

  “Oh?” He arched a brow. “And what do you do for them?”

  “I make observations.”

  “I see.” That meant nothing useful in his opinion. Probably right up there with acting.

  “But you sell antiques,” Mrs. Taylor said brightly. “In that cute little store in the shopping district.”

  I hadn’t told her where I worked. My eyes went briefly to Liam, who was now staring at his mother. She knows, I thought. She knows Liam was working for me.

  “Yes,” I said. “Next to the Herb Shoppe. My parents used to own that store as well. I grew up working there.”

  “Antiques are wonderful things,” Mrs. Taylor went on. If she did know about my connection with Liam, she wasn’t bringing it up around Mr. Taylor, and he apparently wasn’t paying close enough attention to the conversation to understand the subtleties. Perhaps because of a guilty conscience? “I’ve been meaning to buy a few antiques myself,” Mrs. Taylor said. “Haven’t we, dear?” She smiled at her husband, who nodded absently.

  “I can help you with that anytime,” I offered. Not that I thought she’d follow through.

  “Look, can I offer you some coffee?” she asked. “It’s so cold out there. I’m sure you could use some warming up before you leave.”

  Was that a hint? “I’ll take herbal tea, if you have any,” I said. “Maybe lemon or chamomile?”

  “I have an apple-cinnamon tea I simply adore. Will that be okay?”

  “Sure.”

  Mrs. Taylor arose and swept from the room.

  “Could I use your bathroom?” I asked no one in particular. I’d had too much tea, and besides, I needed to touch more objects. A bathroom on the main floor wouldn’t reveal as much as the master bathroom, but it might hold some clues.

  “Show her where it is,” Mr. Taylor told his son.

  Liam walked me to the hallway and pointed out the room. I went slowly down the hall, touching pictures on the wall and items on the half-oval table against the wall. Nothing. Liam made a strained sound in his throat, and when I glanced at him, he cast me an imploring look.

  Sorry, Liam, I thought.

  It was time to get serious. I was mostly convinced that Mrs. Taylor didn’t know anything about Rosemary’s disappearance, but I felt her husband was hiding something. After I found out all I could, I’d have to confront him about the imprint on Rosemary’s princess rock.

  I pulled open the single drawer in the table against the wall and ran my hands near the contents. A small picture radiated such strong imprints that my hand seemed to move closer of its own volition. A young girl stared out at me, standing next to two people I assumed were her parents. The blonde hair told me it wasn’t Rosemary, but the costumes on the adults and the obviously fake backdrop had me confused. Why would Mrs. Taylor keep a picture of actors in a hallway table?

  My finger touched the frame and images washed over me, coming from only months before. Longing. She/I wanted to see my parents. It wasn’t enough anymore to listen to her/my husband’s
excuses. Who cared what they did? It wasn’t as if they were beggars in the street. They didn’t even know I had children. For all they knew, I was dead. But I kept track of them. It was easy enough on the Internet, and they never had to know. Barry never had to know.

  Random, less focused imprints came on the heels of that one—similar longings that spanned years. These were followed by another clear imprint of anger and resentment, followed by a rash vow to cut my parents from my life to please my husband.

  The earliest imprint was more than thirty years earlier and belonged, like all the others, to the young girl in the photograph, Mrs. Taylor. Pride, excitement, laughter, love. My parents are so cool. I’m so lucky.

  I pulled my finger away as the images began to repeat.

  Liam had taken several steps toward me. “What?” he asked.

  It was a lot to process. “You told me once you didn’t know your grandparents. Is that right?”

  “They died before I was born. Apparently, my grandmother lived with us a few years when Rosemary was a baby.”

  “Your dad’s parents?”

  He nodded.

  “What about your mother’s parents?”

  He shrugged. “I have no idea. I think they died when my mom was in college.”

  “No,” I said, handing him the photograph. “They were very much alive two months ago.”

  His eyes were riveted on the picture, no doubt taking in the costumes and the theater backdrop. Then, with a quick peek behind him, he slipped the tiny photo, frame and all, into the pocket of his jeans.

  I studied him for several seconds before walking the few remaining steps to the bathroom. I let the water run in the basin while I opened cupboards and slid my hands near everything. The few objects that tingled with imprints weren’t helpful or relevant. Well, at least I’d found the photograph. I’d text Liam for a copy. It might be a long shot, but maybe her grandparents had something to do with Rosemary’s disappearance. The theater world couldn’t be all that big, could it? I’d have to ask Tracy to run a few searches through her contacts at the station and see if we could find them.